Song | Social Wedding Rings |
Artist | Mount Moriah |
Album | Mount Moriah |
Download | Image LRC TXT |
作曲 : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
In a motel room in | |
Colorado Springs, | |
We learned what impatience brings | |
To women who fool around. | |
That summer was a strung-out mess, | |
And you swore to | |
God you had the perfect fix, | |
And a plan to get us out. | |
You said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out." | |
I sat in the living room | |
And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
To move away from you. | |
Our record: | |
Buffy Sainte- | |
Marie,And we held hands and cried' | |
Til we couldn't see anything. | |
You said, "Don't you turn around.You wouldn't like what you found here anyhow." | |
So I took a red-eye from the | |
Bay,Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
From Mission | |
Street.The next time we would meet | |
Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
I said, "Don't you make a sound.Nothing's careful in desire,Especially now." | |
There were no accidents; | |
We asked for this. | |
But the South is not out | |
West.There's nothing gentle about | |
Our stomachs full of gin. | |
We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
In a farmhouse in the | |
Piedmont Hills, | |
We learned what impatience wills | |
To women who fool around. | |
If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
It's the choice and sound of moving hands | |
Over social wedding rings. | |
I said, "Don't you turn around.Leave your strings at the door,And just walk out." |
zuo qu : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
In a motel room in | |
Colorado Springs, | |
We learned what impatience brings | |
To women who fool around. | |
That summer was a strungout mess, | |
And you swore to | |
God you had the perfect fix, | |
And a plan to get us out. | |
You said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." | |
I sat in the living room | |
And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
To move away from you. | |
Our record: | |
Buffy Sainte | |
Marie, And we held hands and cried' | |
Til we couldn' t see anything. | |
You said, " Don' t you turn around. You wouldn' t like what you found here anyhow." | |
So I took a redeye from the | |
Bay, Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
From Mission | |
Street. The next time we would meet | |
Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
I said, " Don' t you make a sound. Nothing' s careful in desire, Especially now." | |
There were no accidents | |
We asked for this. | |
But the South is not out | |
West. There' s nothing gentle about | |
Our stomachs full of gin. | |
We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
In a farmhouse in the | |
Piedmont Hills, | |
We learned what impatience wills | |
To women who fool around. | |
If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
It' s the choice and sound of moving hands | |
Over social wedding rings. | |
I said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." |
zuò qǔ : McEntire, Mount Moriah | |
In a motel room in | |
Colorado Springs, | |
We learned what impatience brings | |
To women who fool around. | |
That summer was a strungout mess, | |
And you swore to | |
God you had the perfect fix, | |
And a plan to get us out. | |
You said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." | |
I sat in the living room | |
And watched your girlfriend pack her things | |
To move away from you. | |
Our record: | |
Buffy Sainte | |
Marie, And we held hands and cried' | |
Til we couldn' t see anything. | |
You said, " Don' t you turn around. You wouldn' t like what you found here anyhow." | |
So I took a redeye from the | |
Bay, Watched you watch the taxi pull away | |
From Mission | |
Street. The next time we would meet | |
Would be a train wreck of nerves and sexless sleep. | |
Mistakes made, empty hymns. | |
I said, " Don' t you make a sound. Nothing' s careful in desire, Especially now." | |
There were no accidents | |
We asked for this. | |
But the South is not out | |
West. There' s nothing gentle about | |
Our stomachs full of gin. | |
We are alive, and we have no regrets. | |
In a farmhouse in the | |
Piedmont Hills, | |
We learned what impatience wills | |
To women who fool around. | |
If thievery has a voice to to sing | |
It' s the choice and sound of moving hands | |
Over social wedding rings. | |
I said, " Don' t you turn around. Leave your strings at the door, And just walk out." |